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Waking
Laying laurels on the night, I dash
sleep away with cold water and take
tactile evidence of the world
as renewed reality, valid here
for one more day.
Tomorrow it may be different.
Atoms may respace, shift relative
to my senses, and familiar things
blaze new trails to a changed centre
of relabelled thought.
But today the wall is a limit.
Three feet above my head the ceiling
still hangs its shelter. Outside, the road
meets my pacing with the same hard hand,
resisting speed.
Somerset 1997
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